Can't Forget Till This World Blows Up
by writable
Summary: Songfic type drabbles about Season 3. 5-shot. Cee Lo Green, Black Eyed Peas, Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Kesha.


**I am seriously in love with these songfic sort of drabbles, so I thought I'd go ahead and do one to celebrate Season 3 of Castle overall and the general themes within it. Plus it's my fiftieth fanfic, so there's no place I'd rather be than in the Castle fandom~ :D Hope you enjoy, as always!**

**Forget You - Cee Lo Green / A Deadly Affair (ep.1)**

"_Castle_?"

Beckett peered into the bedroom with an expression that looked like she'd just been shot with a stun gun. A New York summer had passed without any word from the guy, and suddenly Mr. Richard Castle was standing in her crime scene, hovering over her vic?

Hell no.

She could feel her fingers twitch around the gun that was so precariously pointed at that damn man's head. There was a dry humor in the situation, how easily the muse could become the murderer. Murder was something she had absolutely no intent on doing, and yet she savored the terrified look on his face all the same. She watched as his expression transformed from surprise to guilt to amusement to fear, and she couldn't help but think about all the faces of Castle that she had missed over the past four months. He was a pain in the butt if there ever was one, but he had a way of messing things around so that once you got a taste of him, there was no going back.

She shook her head slightly as she walked forward, trying to make sure her face was as stern as it could be while she slipped a pair of handcuffs on him and spewed out his Miranda rights with extra venom. She already knew that this man would weasel his way back into her life sooner or later.

But making him suffer a little first sure wouldn't hurt.

**Just Can't Get Enough - Black Eyed Peas / The Dead Pool (ep.21)**

Castle watches Beckett's face as if he is calculating something in his head. He manages to not break contact with her eyes, and when she finally pulls away, he feels himself still staring at the place where her green irises used to be. Sweet, she had called him. It certainly had a nice ring to it.

He finds himself towering above her for a moment, his foot poised to walk out of the precinct door, his heart like a lead weight in his chest. He cannot leave her now; that reality is as clear to him as day. Not that he wants to, anyways.

So he lifts his feet up from the floor, and settles into the chair by Kate's side, crossing his legs in a show of utmost comfort and contentment. He is certain he has some sort of limp, idiotic smile on his face, but he's far from caring.

Beckett just called him sweet.

**Born This Way - Lady Gaga**

Ryan swatted the snooze button on his alarm clock as though it were some vicious fly dead set on buzzing in his ear. He wanted to hit himself too, for forgetting to turn it off the day before. But then again, St. Patrick's Day hangovers were always pretty good at taking any sense of logic he had and chucking it out the window.

He rolled over onto his frontside, trying to press his face against the pillow until the pain in his head began to dull. Under the pressure and lack of oxygen he could see the little pieces of green confetti that had been thrown into the air, smell the beer that the bartender had put in green glasses in an effort to be festive. It nauseated him to think of alcohol when it was precisely the thing that made him feel this way in the first place.

He should've learned from last year to refrain. Lord knows how he'd ended up in that Leprechaun costume. Surely Esposito had something to do with that. But he'd never found out. All he really remembered was the faint leering of an audience and the smell of fresh linen sheets as he imprisoned himself in his bed, trying to wait out the torture that was a Saint Patrick's Day hangover.

As he recalled the events of last year, he could feel a certain cloudiness worm its way up his gut, screaming at him to get up and run to the bathroom before it was too late. Quickly, he swung his legs over the crumpled sheets of his bed, and sprinted to the toilet as if it was a suspect and he was already in uniform.

Ah, the luck of the Irish.

**Till The World Ends - Britney Spears / Setup (ep.16)**

Time.

They were running out of it now, and both of them knew it. The air somehow seemed colder than when they'd first inhaled it, and their breaths had become dangerously slow. They had lost their fight, and neither one of them cared to pick up the broken sword that lay in front of them for a second time.

The torturous feeling of cold had shattered all barriers of tension, and Beckett had succumbed to the tempting crook of Castle's arm, the warm breadth of his shoulder. With company, the misery seemed an ounce more tolerable.

"H-how are y-you doing?" Castle stuttered, rubbing his hands on Beckett's shoulder to create some friction.

"I-I'm okay," she replied, nodding to herself as if she was the one that needed the convincing. A thin sheath of ice had formed on her forehead where sweat had once been, the gears in her head hidden beneath the layer of coldness.

"Y-you know we'll make it o-out of this, don't you?" Castle asked her, resting his chin on her forehead. His humor and hope had survived the malevolent frost, and as he sat on the icy floor, his back against the door that which bullets had been unsuccessful in penetrating, he couldn't help but laugh to himself at how tragically, sickeningly romantic this entire situation was. Of course, if he could choose, an icy freezer with a chunk of ice formerly known as Jamal wouldn't exactly be his dream destination, but it didn't mean that he wasn't grateful to have Kate in his arms.

Beckett paused for a moment before drilling her head deeper into Castle's chest.

"I know."

**Blow - K$sha / Countdown (ep.17)**

Castle and Beckett look at each other the way two children would before a well-deserved punishment. Beckett's hands are like ice, but Castle can't stop sweating. Time is ticking far too quickly, and his body can't move to match it.

There are a million things he can do in a moment like this, but suddenly, none of them seem good enough. He could call home, tell Alexis that he loves her, perhaps tell his Mother the same if he felt especially ironic. There was Gina, Meredith, truly a plethora of people that were deserving of his final words.

He could run. There was always that option. It would be tragically hopeless, but perhaps, if he was lucky, he and Beckett could escape the entire thing, hide behind some sort of magical lead box that maybe would appear if he wished hard enough.

But for now, neither of those things seem like they would work. He feels as though his body is determined to stay in place, his hands grasping Kate's tightly like they never have before, his mind working and working as if Nikki Heat is in some sort of conundrum that he has to try and get her out of. He thinks, his eyes narrowed to the point where they begin to water, awaiting the frightening sound that will truly end them all.

This is a twist if there ever was one!

He watches as the the numbers on the timer get lower and lower, and his forehead breaks into a light sweat. Kate is mumbling some words of sentiment beside him, but in the moment, he cannot truly hear her. This sort of thing doesn't happen to Nikki Heat. This sort of thing most certainly will not happen to Richard Castle and Detective Kate Beckett.

So he reaches into the very thing that has promised his destruction, and stirs it around as if its a pot of soup and his arms are the spoons needed to mix it. His hands emerge with a fistful of wires, and Beckett is staring at him with the eyes of a child on Christmas. His eyes are rather large too, and his heart pounds in his chest at the enormity of what he has done. Beckett wraps her arms around him, bringing herself into his chest. She can feel his heartbeat, pounding in tandem with hers, and the sheer sound of life is like music to her ears.

She sees his grin, and can't help but thinking about the never-ending gloating that he is no doubt thinking about. She wants to roll his eyes at him, to smack him, to feel something beneath her fingertips so that she knows she's not in a dream. Her lips curl into the biggest smile she's possible of creating. She's so happy she could kiss him.

Almost.


End file.
